The Flying Scotsman (7 page)

Although I doubted many scaff-and-raff would find their way to Pall Mall, I applauded their efforts. “Of course; you must do. Thanks. Good of you,” I said, as if these men had overheard the discussion between the Chief Inspector and my employer and I was left with the work of making amends on their behalf.

Daniel shook his head. “Very cool, this cove. Very cool indeed.” He took a last glance back at the roof and the increasing fall of rain. “Too bad the weather didn’t change an hour earlier.”

“It is a very wet night.” one of the others said. “It’ll be wetter before morning.”

My hip confirmed it, the small sliver of metal imbedded in bone throbbing like a sore tooth. I did not bother to limp—the ache was constant no matter how I walked or sat. “We’ll have rain for two or three days,” I remarked.

“It’s spring,” Daniel protested as we closed and secured the lock on the door. “The rain will slack off.”

“Not for two days,” I said, disliking this dispute I was being dragged into as the result of my own folly. “But nothing we say will change it,” I went on in a less belligerent tone.

“That’s the God’s own truth,” said the first constable. “Do you, Childes, stay here. You’ll be relieved at dawn. No unauthorized person in or out, not even if he lives in the building. Is that clear?”

“It surely is,” said Childes, taking up his post with a self-conscious care that made me wonder how long he had been on the police force.

We began to make our way down the stairs, our footsteps echoing in the stairwell, magnifying the sound until it seemed a regiment might be descending instead of three tired men. What troubled me was how totally the sound covered any other noise. If the assassin were in the building, he might be doing anything and we would not hear it.

As we reached the ground floor, the first constable came up to me and saluted smartly. “Tell your Mister Holmes that he’ll have my report on his desk by noon. I’ll make a copy for Chief Inspector Somerford as well.” He was about to turn when I stopped him.

“I’ll be proud to do that, Constable, but it would mean more if I knew your name.” I waited for his response.

He laughed. “How lax of me. Of course. I am Constable Desmond Bernard; Mister Holmes will know the name.” Touching the edge of his helmet with two fingers, he turned smartly but without military exactness and went toward the door and the rain beyond. Daniel trailed along behind him.

I watched him go, doing my best not to feel too uneasy about leaving this place with only one constable to guard it. No doubt my employer would know whether or not a second guard was needed. I hitched up my coat and brought it over my head enough to keep me somewhat dry; then I bolted from the building and made my short way down the street to the building where Mycroft Holmes had his flat. As I went, I saw the number of men posted at or near the Diogenes Club had increased to nine.

Sutton opened the door to my knock. “Come in, Guthrie,” he said, sounding very much like our mutual employer. “Mister Holmes will be back shortly. He sent a messenger to Tyers about ten minutes ago. Tyers has left on an errand and will return shortly.”

“Perhaps I should go down again,” I suggested, not wanting to leave the flat again until I went to my own rooms in Curzon Street.

“Mister Holmes would like you to stay here. He asks you to prepare a report on what you observed on the roof and to organize any other accounts that might be presented tonight.” He had set the lock once more and was gesturing in the direction of the study. “You’ll want to take off that wet coat and warm yourself.”

“So I might,” I agreed, glad to be persuaded to do the very thing I wished most to do. I handed my coat to Sutton and went into the study. I plopped down on the chair nearest the hearth, letting the warmth from the smoldering logs go over me like the massage of angels’ fingers. I had not realized until that moment how cold and wet I was.

“There’s brandy,” said Sutton, indicating the fine old bottle on the table near the shuttered window. “Have some. It will warm you.” He poured a finger into one of the snifters and handed it to me. “Go on. Take it.”

Ordinarily I would have refused, but the events of the day, compounded by the alarums of the night, had left me jangled. I took the snifter with a grateful nod. “I doubt my hands will warm it much,” I said in feeble jest as I gave the liquid a swirl in the snifter.

“When Mister Holmes returns, you can switch over to tea.” Edmund Sutton gestured extravagantly, as if to have the movement carry all the way to the balcony. “It should not be much longer. He said he would not be long.”

I nodded, remarking, “It’s late,” before I allowed myself a bit of the brandy.

“After one,” he agreed before he splashed brandy into a second snifter for himself. “Sometimes I miss touring,” he said just to fill the silence, which actors abhor. “Those four years I and my company roamed about the Midlands doing Molière and Shakespeare and Ibsen and Sheridan and all the rest, they were wonderful. We went as far as north as Northumberland, and as far south as Oxford and Saint Albans, going up and down and across on trains, our scenery and costumes riding with us in the baggage car; we were this century’s version of strolling players, perpetually on tour. We kept to a strict schedule. Five performances a week, with a matinee on Market Day, whichever day it was in that town. Traveling on Sunday, dark on Monday while we set up for Tuesday night.” He sighed. “There’s no substitute for it. Not if you want to make the most of your talent.”

“Did you like the Midlands?” I asked to show I was listening.

“Well enough. There was plenty to sketch; I’ll
say that for the place. Kept my eye sharp and my hand steady.” He grinned, looking now like a slightly over-age university student. “I learned thirty-seven roles in those four years. We did six plays a year, and in a few I played more than one role.”

“Was that difficult?” I asked, having had to sustain a persona other than my own while engaged in doing the work Mycroft Holmes required of me.

“Not usually, though in one or two instances, it was.” He was standing beside the fireplace, one arm resting on the marble mantle, the other holding the snifter with elegant nonchalance. “We were doing
She Stoops to Conquer,
and my change between roles required a skin-out new costume and completely redone make-up. It was always a rush.” He looked up as the sound of the knocker reverberated through the flat. “Excuse me,” said Sutton, abandoning his superior pose and going to answer the door. He reappeared almost at once, looking mildly shocked. “Mister Guthrie, you’re needed below.”

I sat upright, aware from the tone of his voice that something was amiss. I set my snifter aside and went to retrieve my coat. “Do you know what the matter is?” I asked as I pulled on the sodden garment that now seemed intolerably clammy.

“No. But the note is from Mister Holmes and it is urgent.” He handed the paper, clearly torn from a notebook, with my employer’s familiar, spiky scrawl angled across the half-sheet of paper: “Sutton, Send Guthrie down at once. Secure the flat against our return. MH.”

“Not much information,” I remarked as I prepared to leave.

“Secrecy may be paramount,” Sutton said. “Go on. And watch yourself.”

Little as I wanted to, I had to fight off a sudden fear that ran through me. “I shouldn’t be long,” I said before starting down the stairs. It was raining in earnest now, and the wind had picked up so that the water came at an angle; shortly it was running down the inside of my collar and sliding along my neck and back. The sensation was eerie and unpleasant.

Mycroft Holmes was standing within the line of constables in front of the Diogenes Club, his long, clever face set in a powerful frown. Police Commander George Winslowe and Police Superintendent Roland Spencer were standing in a huddle with him, their demeanor as somber as his. As I came up to them, stopping a respectful five feet and two stairs away, Mister Holmes caught sight of me and waved me closer to the three of them. “I apologize for bringing you out a second time on a night like this, but we must speak with these two men.”

“Of course,” I said, wondering if I still had my notebook and pencil in my inner waistcoat pocket.

“Nothing written down,” Mister Holmes said sharply as if discerning my thoughts. “We have agreed upon a solution to our problem. It is a difficult one, but it has the greatest chance of success.” He sighed heavily. “I will have to call upon the men in question.” He lowered his voice still more. “Two of the Directors belong to this club. I have no apprehension about them. But the rest ... well, the PM must add his weight to our petition if we are to succeed.”

“Shall you need me on this errand?” I asked.

“I don’t know yet. Besides, that is hours away.” He dismissed it with an impatient wave of his hand. “What we must settle is far more urgent. Guthrie, what did you find on the roof?”

I knew what he wanted. “The same kind of chisel cut as was on the building by Saint Paul’s. Properly cut in a single, practiced blow so that the groove is utterly smooth. Recent enough that the wood was raw with the mark. If there had been more light or it had not come on to rain, we might have found more; but as it was, neither the policemen nor I were able to discern anything remarkable other than that groove. I managed a cursory measurement, and it appeared to have been the same size as the other, although I could not swear to it absolutely.” All three were listening closely. When I completed my brief account, I added, “For the moment, I must suppose both shots were fired by the same man.”

Commander Winslowe spoke first. “You have no doubts? The groove could not have been caused in some other way? Could it not be older than you reckon?”

“Well, if it is, Commander,” I replied, “then we must suppose the assassin has been practicing here, readying himself for yesterday’s attempt on Prince Oscar’s life. Or something more dire.” I indicated the Diogenes Club door. “Many illustrious men pass these portals. Their loss would be disastrous.”

Superintendent Spencer endorsed my concern. “That very thought had crossed my mind. What if the assassin knew nothing about Prince Oscar and was seeking instead to kill one or more of the members? It is always possible, Mister Holmes, that his target was not the Prince at all, but you.”

I had a quick, nasty recollection of the footman’s blood spattering on me, and recalled that Mycroft Holmes was only a few steps away from me. “I believe we should factor such a potential into our plans.”

Mister Holmes, who had been silent until now, spoke in a low rumble. “You may do as you must, but our first purpose must be to protect and preserve Prince Oscar, for his death at this crucial time could shift the whole of Scandinavia to Germany, and we would be at a disadvantage, should that be allowed to happen. Put your energies there, gentlemen. Guthrie and I know how to look out for ourselves.” He glanced at me again. “The roof is guarded?”

I pointed to the building in question. “A constable is posted inside the door to the roof and the door itself is locked.”

Superintendent Spencer heard this with slight approval. “Somerford’s men, no doubt. He feels the attempt on the Prince’s life—if that is what it was—keenly. Very dedicated fellow. How did your discussion with him go, Holmes?”

“Well enough,” my employer answered; his manner told me he was holding something back.

Commander Winslowe, already straight, stood a little straighter. “We will depart at noon, according to plan. We have found a young ensign who resembles the Prince enough for casual observation, and he is willing to embark for Belgium and thence to Stockholm, with a small naval escort. He knows the perils of this undertaking, but he is willing to do it.” His face looked a bit ruddier in the lampshine, but that might have been from the rain on his face.

“Good man,” Mycroft Holmes approved. “We will hope that the men I must persuade will agree to our plan.” He held up a finger. “Do not discuss this with anyone not directly involved. If you do not have to include him, do not. Err on the side of caution, gentlemen. For tomorrow—or today, isn’t it?—
bon chance.”
He nodded at the two then said to me. “Come, Guthrie. We have much to do before dawn.” With that he turned away and trod across the slippery cobblestones in long, steady strides.

I went after him rather more carefully. I caught up with him on the sidewalk. “If you are sending a double to Stockholm in Prince Oscar’s stead, where are you taking the Prince? Has there been a change of plans in his destination? Other than somewhere by rail?”

“All in good time, Guthrie,” said Mycroft Holmes as he made his way up to the first floor, pausing there before going on. “Is Tyers back yet?”

“Not when I came down. He may have returned since. Where has he been?” I asked before I could stop myself as we began to climb once more. I was cold enough to begin to shiver, and it was an effort to keep my teeth from chattering in the treacherous spring storm.

“Why, with the Prince, of course,” said Mycroft Holmes with a smile any Cheshire Cat would envy. “He had one other message to deliver, but after that he has been with Prince Oscar.”

“Who is where?” I demanded in a tone I would have never used to my employer even a year ago.

Mycroft Holmes stopped before using his own knocker. “Why, Guthrie, my dear boy, I thought you had surmised it all: Prince Oscar is in Baker Street at my brother’s flat—where else should he be as safe as there?”

FROM THE PERSONAL JOURNAL OF PHILIP TYERS

Spent an hour in Baker Street with Prince and when I complete this entry I will make a full report for MH. The Prince is not discouraged, although he is upset about the footman. Another man, less rigorously trained, might become overwhelmed by these events, but Prince Oscar is made of sterner stuff, as indeed all royals must be.

CI Somerford was not available to take the memorandum MH prepared for him, but judging the state in which he departed, and the engagement he spoke of, I am neither surprised nor anxious in his regard....

The Swedish Ambassador has declined MH’s request for an interview.